


Five Minutes Longer

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s07e18 Heroes (2), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another death, another loss. Another win for the bad guys. They all took their toll. One look at Daniel showed just how much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Minutes Longer

**Author's Note:**

> A conversation set a few weeks post-Heroes

“A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer” –  Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

It wasn’t an area of the SGC he was particularly familiar with. Of course, there was the argument that everywhere looked the same anyway – stark, concrete walls, floors enlivened by colored “this way to …” lines. Sub level 18 was pretty much like all the rest.

He peered at door numbers as he walked slowly along the corridor. The limp was less pronounced now, his side ached only most of the time instead of all the time. Dr. – he couldn’t recall her name, only that she wasn’t Fraiser – had just told him, in the latest of a long line of appointments, that he could ditch the cane whenever he felt ready. He wasn’t ready yet.

Eventually, he found the room he was looking for.

Daniel was hunched over a laptop, typing in the way reluctant keyboard users do … a couple of bent fingers moving slowly over the keys, tap, tapping in the silence.

He rapped gently on the doorframe.

“Simon.” The recognition was instant and the smile genuine. “Hey, come on in.”

He was waved inside.

“Daniel. Are you busy? I can always …”

“No, no, no,” Daniel rose from his seat and looked around for another chair. He found one in the corner. It was laden with files and books, and a half-empty coffee mug was perched precariously on top of the pile.

“Um. Sorry. Sorry, I’m a little … here, have this one.” Daniel rolled the computer chair towards him and gestured for him to take a seat.

Simon sat down a little heavily. The trek from infirmary to lab had taken more out of him than he liked to admit. Than he _would_ admit.

“Can I get you anything?” Daniel looked around his office in that absent manner he had. Simon wondered if Daniel knew quite what he was looking for.

“A doctor who’ll allow me back on duty would be nice,” he said, smiling wryly.

Daniel blinked, as if he was having trouble processing that. “Yeah. That could be a problem. I do have coffee, although it was made,” Daniel checked his watch and appeared surprised, “about five hours ago. So, maybe not.”

There was silence for a moment.

“So, how are you feeling?” Daniel perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded, attention now acutely focused. For a second, Simon felt not unlike a recently-unearthed artefact.

“I’m fine, really.” Then he listened to himself and huffed a “yeah, right, of course I am” laugh, and Daniel replied in kind.

“Guess you must be pretty sick of that question, huh?” Daniel smiled a half-smile that said he understood only too well.

“People are kind. They want to help, only …” Simon shifted in his chair, his scar starting to pull and ache as he sat.  
“Only nothing very much helps,” Daniel finished for him.

“Right.”

Daniel nodded. He looked tired. The lines around his eyes were deep, stubble spoke of a couple of days without shaving. A glance at the lab revealed plates of half-eaten sandwiches and candy wrappers. He was working hard, maybe too hard. Maybe this was Daniel’s way of trying to forget.

But Simon would lay money that it wasn’t working.

He’d heard the scuttlebutt about the recent mission with the Goa’uld/human hybrid.

Another death, another loss. Another win for the bad guys. They all took their toll. One look at Daniel showed just how much.

He desperately wanted to ask him if it was worth it. If coming back down to Earth was worth all this pain.

The losses racked up around these parts, and it never got any easier.

“Have you … talked to anyone?” Daniel asked, easing back until he was sitting on the lab bench, hands tucked tight beneath his thighs.

“Mandatory psych sessions. They help a little.” He shrugged. “You?” he queried, wondering if he was pushing the boundaries. They weren’t exactly friends, although what they’d been through had bound them together. Daniel had visited him several times in the infirmary, sometimes with O’Neill in tow. He seemed to be his shadow for a while.

“I saw someone. Twice. Didn’t really do much good. Talking to friends is …” His gaze grew distant, as if he was reviewing all the stumbling, half-finished conversations in his head. Simon knew all about those. “It’s difficult,” Daniel continued carefully. “ I guess we all cope in our own ways.” He frowned. This hurt. Simon guessed everything hurt. He knew all about that, too.

Daniel appeared to mentally shake himself, then said more brightly, “I’m guessing baby Janet is helping more than anything.”

Simon smiled at the thought of the tiny, tender, affirmation of life that reduced him to tears so readily for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom. “Oh yeah. She’s beautiful. She’s grown so much. You should see her. Actually,” he straightened, trying to ease the gnawing ache in his side. “I’m here because of Janet. I wanted to ask you something. You should feel free to say no, we won’t be offended but … we’re planning a baby naming ceremony.”

Simon watched Daniel’s eyebrows rise in question.

“Marci’s a Humanist. I’m not. I’m not really … anything … much. But Marci wants this, and I guess I can’t find anything to object to. So, we were wondering if you’d like to come. It would mean a lot, to all three of us, if you could be there.”

For a while, Daniel said nothing, and Simon wondered if the ceremony would be too hard for him. If hearing Janet named for the close friend he’d seen die violently before his eyes just weeks ago would be too much to bear.

Daniel moved to bring his hands out from under his legs, and wrapped them around himself. It looked like a self-comforting gesture, a default setting. When he spoke, his voice was a little gruff. “I’d be honored. Thank you.”

Simon let out a breath. “That’s great. Great. It’ll be a few weeks yet. I’d really like not to limp through the ceremony. We kind of thought it would be a good way to honor Dr. Fraiser properly too. You know.” He felt awkward. He felt like he was intruding on private grief. But if he couldn’t say these things to Daniel, who could he say them to?

Suddenly, he needed air. He needed to be at home, to kiss his wife’s face, to cradle the soft warmth of  his daughter, to be away from this place where death was too real a possibility and loss too common.

“Well, I’d better go. I don’t want to keep you. You look pretty busy.” He leaned heavily on his cane and levered himself to his feet.

Despite his overwhelming need to get home, it had helped, coming here. He knew it would.

Daniel slipped from the bench to offer a supporting hand beneath his elbow. His grip tightened as he said softly, “Hang in there, Simon. It will get easier.” Daniel’s eyes said he spoke from experience; that he spoke a truth that was hard learned.

Simon couldn’t speak for a minute. He simply nodded. Daniel patted his arm and nodded in return.

Simon shuffled towards the corridor, for now his limp a little more obvious. He turned as he reached the doorway. “Thank you, Daniel, not just  …”

Daniel waved a hand vaguely as if to say, _“It’s OK, you don’t have to say anything.”_

Simon smiled, then began the long haul back to the surface.


End file.
